


Moment de Faiblesse

by Ebyru



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Power Play, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebyru/pseuds/Ebyru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel doesn't want to bend anymore; he's going to take what he wants. When he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moment de Faiblesse

**Author's Note:**

> prompted by verucasalt123 @ lj (also beta'd by her)
> 
> She asked for D/s but I suck at that, so I just made it into a power struggle with slashy bits.
> 
> Castiel's POV.  
> Inspired by "Clubbed to death" by Rob D (Matrix soundtrack)

**Moment de Faiblesse**   
  


Castiel is an angel.

He works for Heaven. He watches over humans, protects his charge. But he’s _more_ than that.

He has friends.  He has aspirations. He has desires.

Many desires—dark ones, greedy ones, strange ones.

And they only get stronger as his will gets weaker.

Step.

          Step.

                    Step.

                              Step.

 “Dean?”

Castiel is so close to Dean now. Dean’s almost within reach, can almost be touched.

“Hmm?”

“Why can’t we—” Castiel’s mind is travelling the wind, already circling the idea he can’t formulate into words without sounding vulgar, dirty, _perverse_.

“What is it, Cas?”

Tempers are already beginning to flare.

“I want to touch you.”

It’s out. Castiel has said it. After weeks, months, of dreaming of this moment, it’s finally here.

“No.”

And just like that it’s beginning to slip through Castiel’s grasp. He can’t let it escape yet.

“ _Why_?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you love me if I can’t touch you?”

“I don’t love you like that.”

“That is false.”

“Says who?”

Castiel doesn’t like Dean’s tone.  Castiel doesn’t like Dean’s expression or lack of one. Castiel doesn’t like _Dean_ right now.

Castiel doesn’t appreciate that Dean gets to binge drink, then drag Castiel from Heaven, and do whatever he wants to his vessel—poor Jimmy’s body. But if Castiel ever mentions any type of physical contact when Dean is sober, Dean is closed off, ignorant, blatant with his words, and an all-around _vile_ man.

“Dean. Am I hideous?”

If asking won’t work, perhaps guilt will.

“What are you talking about? Heaven’s got your marbles all scrambled? I’m busy.”

“Busy doing what exactly?”

Castiel’s arms are crossed as he leans over Dean’s shoulder, watching the hunter clean his gun for the fifth time.

“Human stuff. Stuff you wouldn’t know anything about. Some of us have to actually lift a finger. Some of us don’t have heavenly powers.”

Overheating.

Castiel is burning up. He’s on fire. He’s aflame, practically charring the walls with his anger. Perhaps if Dean touched him now, it would be the last thing he would ever do _as a pathetic human_.

“How dare you.”

And it’s not a question like the way someone on Earth would say it, it’s a fact, it’s a statement.

“What are you—”

Dean is against the wall, pieces of the gun scattered across the motel room floor. Castiel sees nothing but red.

Red like fire.

         Red like rage.

                 Red like blood.

                          Red like the yearning in the pit of his angelic soul.

“How _dare_ you. You insolent, insensitive, selfish, stubborn, impure excuse for a child of God. How dare you refuse me what I give to you so gladly?”

“Calm down—”

Castiel slams him harder against the wall.

“Do not tell me what to do. You no longer have any right to order me around like some domesticated animal.”

The flames are on the edge of his vessel’s skin, begging to be let loose, to destroy Dean where he stands.

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“You what? You didn’t realize you were _stepping_ on me? Didn’t realize Angels of the Lord had feelings too great for something so imbecilic as you to comprehend? You’d forgotten just how quickly I could extinguish your meaningless life?”

Dean swallows, his eyes wide; the grip on his throat tightens.

“Things are going to change, Dean. You will follow my every command, and you will say nothing.”

Castiel loosens his grip, and, as he does, Dean reaches for the knife in his back pocket. Castiel grabs Dean’s wrist, twisting until the pain is coursing through Dean so fiercely he has to drop the weapon.

“Nice try.”

Dean’s legs are forced apart, his belt discarded; his pants fall to the ground. Castiel knows Dean’s not going to make the rest easy, though.

Castiel keeps one hand against Dean’s shoulder, pinning him to the wall, the other unbuttoning the hunter’s shirt.

Slowly.

Slow enough that the ache of flames spreading across Castiel’s skin settles into a gentle warmth instead, demanding more revealed flesh.

“Are you going to try and kill me? I know you still have the angel blade.”

Dean says nothing, turns his head. Castiel smirks, peeling off his shirt, his hand returning to the place where it was pressing.

Coincidence, really.

It’s the spot where Castiel first grabbed Dean. When he first laid eyes on a creature so beautiful and tormented it wasn’t simply a mission anymore, it was Castiel’s duty to save Dean from the fiery pits of Hell.

Castiel should have known then that it would lead to this.

“Cas.”

Dean is shaking. Castiel can’t help but like it; this is how it should have been all along. Dean should have never been able to command a being far above his rank.

“Scared?”

“No.”

Castiel watches Dean’s eyes as he looks away, again.

Darkness. Greed. Anger.

Dean’s right; there is no fear.

Castiel’s throbbing inside, too far gone to analyse what all this means, too _hungry_ to stop now.

“Good.”

Castiel slides his hand down the front of Dean’s boxer briefs. Dean’s cock twitches, stiffens with a few firm strokes. Castiel smirks, watching the fabric stretch with each tug.

“That’s very good, Dean.”

“Shut up, you prick.”

“I see your language is as refined as ever.”

“Fuck you.”

Castiel squeezes the shaft, right below the head, and Dean throws his head back against the wall hard enough to lose consciousness. If that did happen, Castiel would just wake him and continue.

“Be careful, Dean.”

Dean arches into the touch, his eyes darker now, brimming with the same dangerous fire Castiel felt moments ago.

Castiel slides the cotton down, with both hands, looking into Dean’s eyes. There lies the real truth; he wants this just as much as Castiel does, if not more.

“Do you want this?”

“No.”

Castiel stares until a tremor overcomes Dean and his eyes flutter shut.

“Do you want this?”

This time Dean doesn’t answer. But Castiel knows the answer like he knows his own mind, his own thoughts, his own overpowering and debilitating lust.

Castiel closes his eyes, and devours all he can. Dean is shaking harder, probably wanting to thrust into the wet, heat of Castiel’s mouth, but the angel won’t allow him to do what he wants. Not this time.

Maybe never again.

“Dean, you taste so good.”

Castiel had heard Dean say that countless times. He wanted to try it out.

Castiel grins when Dean’s mouth hangs open, peering down at the smug angel (who used to be pushover Castiel).

“Stop.”

Another earth-shattering tremor soars across Dean’s skin when Castiel sucks hard, teeth grazing just enough to be present, but not hurt. Castiel can feel each quiver like a countdown to Dean’s unbearable demise.

He could get used to the power.

Castiel pulls back just as Dean’s balls are recoiling close to his thighs.

“Fuck, Cas. Why did you stop?”

Castiel smirks, sliding a hand down Dean’s naked leg.

“You told me to.”

Dean takes in a shaky breath.

Castiel can’t keep his eyes away. Dean’s like one of those pornography actors, but better. _Much_ better.

“Don’t do this to me.”

“Do what?”

“Make me...beg.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“Stop.”

“No.”

Castiel stands, pressing against Dean’s every curve, and purposely leaning his covered erection against Dean’s leaking cock.

“Cas.”

“What, Dean? Have you surrendered?”

“No.”

Castiel likes that about Dean. Dean will never give up no matter how hopeless the situation may appear.

“That’s good.”

Dean grunts, his fingers trying to drag Castiel closer to deepen the contact, to make it better.

Castiel lets him get away with it for a moment, but then pushes both arms back, pinning them to the wall.

“Stop it.”

Castiel glares.

Dean glares.

Castiel grabs the head of Dean’s  cock and squeezes, coaxing his ejaculation, and lets go when Dean’s eyes glaze over and he’s just about to release.

“Fuck you, Cas. I hate you. Fuckin’ go back to Heaven.”

“Do you mean that, Dean? Is that what you’d like?”

“Yes.”

Dean is glaring again, his erection most likely painful by now. Castiel knows; Dean’s done worse than this to him.

“If you want me to leave, why are your fingers around my wrist?”

“So I can use your hand. I’m so fuckin’ close, Cas. Don’t do this.”

“But it’s amusing for me.”

“Please.”

“I thought you weren’t going to beg.”

“Shut up. Go away, you cock tease.”

Castiel backs away, keeping his eyes locked on Dean’s face, just to make sure he doesn’t touch himself. He drops his coat on the floor, continuing to walk backwards towards Dean’s empty bed. His shirt is on the floor next, then his pants, and Dean is stalking towards Castiel like he’s in a trance, desperate for the angel’s body pressed against his own.

“Shall I go away now?”

Dean climbs on the bed, watching Castiel cross his arms, leaning against the wooden headboard. Castiel smirks again, darting his tongue out for no more than a second, just to wet his lips, knowing what it does to Dean.

“Just let me—”

Castiel moves out of range when Dean reaches for his face. He shifts again when Dean gets too close to his own straining, clothed erection. He catches Dean’s wrist tightly when Dean tries to palm him through his underwear.

“No.”

Dean lunges forward, but Castiel flips them over, straddling Dean’s swollen cock. Dean’s eyes roll back in his head, and he stops trying to pull out of Castiel’s hold.

“Let me fuck you, Cas.”

“I regret to inform you that that will be impossible.”

“English, Cas. I can’t even _think_ right now.”

“I’m not going to allow it.”

“Then why are you sitting on my lap?”

Castiel rolls his hips. Dean cries out, his hips thrusting in for a better angle.

“To enjoy myself.”

“I can’t take any more of this. Please.”

Castiel shakes his head, claiming Dean’s mouth for the first time tonight.

Tongues overlap and battle and tease, and moans are filling the air like invisible specks of dust covering furniture. Dean doesn’t like being underneath, has voiced it many times, but he has no choice in the matter; Castiel’s made that very clear.

Castiel hovers when he feels Dean’s hips getting too rough, too hard, too close to climax. Dean growls and drags Castiel in for a deeper kiss, licking and sucking until they’re both panting.

Dean’s hand disappears for a moment, but Castiel doesn’t care, doesn’t mind so long as he isn’t palming his erection. He probably should have paid closer attention. Dean doesn’t like losing.

The blade is pressed to Castiel’s neck, metallic and cold, Dean’s gaze firm and unwavering.

“Finish now. Or I finish you.”

“I don’t believe you’ll kill me over this.”

“Are you sure?”

Castiel isn’t sure of anything at this point.

He isn’t sure whether he’s still enjoying himself or not, whether Dean is actually angry enough to kill him, whether any physical contact was worth him turning on Dean so violently earlier, whether he wants to continue taking care of Dean in the future. Nothing is certain anymore, and it frightens Castiel.

Once again, Dean has won.

  
\---End


End file.
